The good news is that I finally figured out how to enter my own domain – something had stumped me since October. Actually I didn’t figure it out exactly … more like I emailed my boyfriend’s techie brother Fred at sartech.ca and he told me how to get into my web applications page and then into settings. When I went to settings, it turns out I had never set the blog up with a password (who knew I had to?) and once I did that, I could access my very own wordpress blog at my very own domain. Only ….

Only it’s never as easy as it’s supposed to be. Once I was at my new wordpress blog at wanderingcarol.com, and about to set it up, I was informed that I’d somehow set up an old version of wordpress.

The message went:

“The latest stable release of WordPress (Version 2.8.6) is available in two formats from the links to your right. If you have no idea what to do with this download, we recommend signing up with one of our web hosting partners that offers a one click install of WordPress or getting a free account on WordPress.com.”

Well of course I have no idea what to do with this download. Who am I? Einstein? (Actually, I did go to a free lecture on Quantum Mechanics yesterday at the University of Toronto, but you know that old saying … you can lead a whore to water, but you can’t make her think.) Only, wait a minute! I thought I had signed up with a web host that offered a one click install of WordPress. That’s why I went with Cirrushosting.com.

So, I’ve contacted Cirrus and have left them with it. Let’s see how much help I get. I’m hoping they’ll just magically set it up for me, but as I pay them something like $6 a month, it’s possible that this isn’t going to happen. In that case, I know who to call. Fred? Oh, Fred!

Since it looks as if I’ve managed to score an entire month at home – I should be in Toronto all December – I’ll use the time to get my writing life in order – and if some housework happens to get done at the same time all the better, but no promises there.

1) One big goal is to develop my blog into a serious mix of blog and webpage with loads of articles all neatly (ha, in my dreams) categorized, mainly in the areas of spa, solo travel, scandalous women and outdoor adventure. So far, I have managed to get my own website, wanderingcarol.com, and get wordpress up on it, but the thing is, I can’t figure out how to actually get in there to blog anything. As soon as I get over the embarrassment of admitting this (oh, wait, I think I just have) I’ll figure out who to ask for help.

2) By January my friend Michele Peterson, who is also working on a book, and I have pledged to hand over everything we have written so far of our manuscripts, including scattered chapters, vague outlines, etc, to each other so we can help each other with structure. Hopefully this will motivate me to fix my first chapter, which takes place in Paris and involves the Buddha Bar, the Hotel Crillon, too much wine and (as it stands) too much whining. Either I need to drastically cut it into a prologue or draw it out into full scenes. Right now it’s a sad hybrid, but I’m not ready to kill it totally.

3) Get my winter columns and articles planned out. My problem is that there are too many stories I want to write and ideas are flying around my head like banshees. I need to focus, pare down and um, well there’s always room for improvement, write funnier, faster, be more profound, more entertaining, and stop using ‘I’ so much. This, like housework, is not likely to happen, but maybe in 2010!

It’s 4:30 in the morning and I’ve got jet lag bad. No, I’ve never found a remedy for it except time. And I’ve tried everything. Right now I just rummaged through my cupboard to find some melatonin, the sleep hormone, and am waiting for it to kick in. If it kicks in. And while I wait I’ll just pretend I’m back in Switzerland, because I did not want to leave. And so I didn’t.

At the Grand Resort Bad Ragaz, I took one look at the thermal pools, the spa facilities, the crystal chandelier over my tub, the Belle Époque swimming pool (okay, it was rebuilt, but still), the surrounding Alps, the hip new decor of the resort, and that was it. I handed over my credit card and said, “Book me in for three more days.”

My chromotherapy tub - so chic

“You’re so lucky you get free trips!” People say this to me all the time. It’s true. It’s wonderful and I don’t take it for granted. But I also think giving a travel writer a free night or two at a good resort is like giving out free crack to create an addict. One hit of a good spa and I’m hooked.

Hooked on this pool!

Mainly my own vacation dollars go towards European spas. This year it was a week in Montegrotto Terme, an Italian spa town. Last year it was five days at the Grand Hotel Pupp (my Czech friend, Lenka, swears it’s pronounced ‘poop’) in the Czech spa town of Karlovy Vary, and before that I spent two weeks in Marianske Lazne, a historic spa town also in the Czech Republic. Oh, there was that week at the Grand Hotel Margitszigit in Budapest, as well. And that week in Heviz, a small Hungarian town with a whole thermal lake full of lilies and retired Germans.

I like the European tradition of spas as slow quiet healing places, often with gorgeous architecture, lovely landscape and fresh air. Not that I have anything against a week in Paris or New York, but I tend to want at least one quiet vacation a year. Or ten. This is because most of my trips are for work and are crazy, with packed itineraries and lots of shmoozing.

My first criteria for a spa vacation is thermal water (hot springs) or at least mineral water (spring water full of minerals but not necessarily hot, like at Mariansky Lazne). Other than that, cheaper is better, but I think Bad Ragaz has spoiled me for life because now I want to live like a sheikh.

Hot Springs - So hot! So cool!

Ah, well. You can’t spa everyday (says who?) and Toronto is a good place to be. Now if only I could sleep …

There is no denying Bad Ragaz is a lovely Alpine town – Heidi country for sure. But try hiking here without reading German and you can find yourself in a mess of confusion. I was happily following the walking trail along the Rhine – keeping to the yellow Wanderweg signs, which I guess means nature walk, and come to this:

What happened to the nature walk?

That didn’t seem very wanderweg so after awhile I turn around and come to this:

And this means?

Evidently horses can read in Switzerland, so they know they’re on the right path. But what’s the top sign? No existential nothingness? No empty-headed thoughts while walking? It’s just a good thing my head was filled with deep philosophical thoughts or I may have been stopped in my tracks.

Then I ended up in a lovely park full of strange orange ducks, with not a sign to be seen:

No signs. A good sign.

Line your ducks in a row

And finally, as I was leaving the park, I completely ignored this sign – because it seemed to concern cars more than wanderwegers – at least I hope so:

The things you think about when hiking alone. In this case it was literary poop. Some scenes in a book stay with you for life. In Bear, the best-known book by the late Canadian author, Marian Engel, the female protagonist, Lou, goes outside and shits with a bear. It’s a strangely erotic relationship between the bear and Lou and an unusual form of bonding. (As a completely irrelevant aside, I dated Engel’s son, William, way back when we were too young to drink in bars, but did anyway.)

I was thinking of this scene in Bear yesterday because I was outside walking and I really had to pee. Anyone who has ever travelled with me knows that I always have to stop for a bathroom break, and even in the great outdoors it’s going to happen. But I didn’t want to go outside. What if someone saw me? By this time I’d hiked up to the ruins of a 13th century castle – Burg Freudenberg overlooking the town of Bad Ragaz.

No one was around. Almost nothing is left of the ruins except for a few stone walls and one perfectly round tower, its doorway just a hole of crumbling bricks. There was already water inside, since it was roofless and had recently rained, so, um, well, I’m not proud of it, but I used a 13th century tower as a latrine.

Hm ... no one's around

Before you hate me, let me remind you that back in the days of castles (or burgs, as they’re called here) there were no lavish bathrooms anyway. I remember visiting a castle in Wales and I was convinced that I’d found a secret passage. It was narrow and wound around a tower and I followed it as far as I could go. “That was the toilet,” said my guide.

Step up a couple of centuries to Jane Austen’s time in Bath, where coincidently, she set part of her first book and her last. As I was touring a grand Georgian manor on the Royal Crescent and gushing over the gorgeous dining room, the guide pointed out a screen in the room and said that the guests would just get up from the table and duck behind the screen to go. No matter how badly I had to go, I wouldn’t do that. Honestly.

Then of course, there is the whole territorial thing about urine. Tigers do it, wolves do it, rats and rhinos, too. It’s a way of claiming space, of making a place your own. So, I guess in a way, I now own my very own Swiss tower – even if the view’s not so great from inside.

This is how cool I am. During Fashion Week in Toronto I was invited to zero shows, parties and/or events. Not one. Oh,wait … I just checked my email and was invited to the Andrew Majtenyi show. I did go the year before and he’s a rockin’ Canadian designer.

I guess travel journalists don’t rate in the fashion world. Except, of course, when we’re on the road. Here in Zürich I had front row seats at the Zimtstern snow and street wear fashion show thanks to Claus Zimmermann, Head of Trade and Marketing Events (and coincidently, brother of Florian who got us into the hockey game two days before).

Afterwards some of the journalists stayed and danced the night away at the After Party rolling back into the hotel at 5 a.m. Meanwhile I was asleep by midnight. Was the good night’s sleep worth it? Not in this case – I heard it was a blast, the music was great and that once the Swiss get warmed up they are way more fun than you might think.

The Runway

Media weren’t supposed to take photos at the show but does a blog count as media? Let me rephrase that … does my blog count as media? Anyway, I had unofficial permission, so here’s what you missed.

We’re so hip!

Now I’m in a hotel in Bad Ragaz, a Swiss resort where the shops, like in St Moritz, showcase completely different gear. As in over-the-top Ivana-Trump-style glam.

We're so pricey!

This jacket, for sale in the boutique in my hotel, is by Bogner. Only something like 13 were made and the price tag is a sleek $7,900. Yup. Eight grand to look good on the slopes. Um. That won’t be me. I love to ski but I’m generally the bag lady of the slopes, which is perfect gear for the green runs I will always prefer. Wearing an $8,000 outfit would be like driving a Jag when you can’t parallel park.